


Sinfully Yours

by Ghoulish_Disgrace



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Daddy Kink, Finger Sucking, Hand & Finger Kink, Light Angst, Masturbation, Modern AU, Parent/Child Incest, Teenage Legolas, maybe daddy issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:46:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghoulish_Disgrace/pseuds/Ghoulish_Disgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas and Thranduil go on a camping trip, and secrets come to light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinfully Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! So here's the first chapter. Bear with me, as it's my first modern-AU kinda thing ^^

Camping. Of all the horridly cliche father-son ideas out there, Thranduil chose _camping._

Things had been quiet in their house for a long while; it was a gradual thing, not particularly clear, but rather muddled, underlying everything: tasks of routine became mechanical, holidays passed of which neither Legolas nor his father would have fond memories. Things were draped in monotone. He couldn’t remember the day when his adar finally gave up on the round of questions at dinnertime. He already knew the answers. His day was fine. Nothing new or exciting. Yes, dinner was fine.  
And so it was in light of this that Legolas found himself awake at seven in the morning, trying to figure out how the hell to fit the tackle box in the already packed-full car. 

“It’s no use. There’s no more room.” Legolas spat in frustration.

“Not exactly giving it our best effort, though, are we? Here, let me see it.”

Thranduil stepped around from the driver’s side door where he’d been securing the bike rack to the top of the car. It was strange to see his father like this, typically he wasn’t the type for the manly-man bonding shit, but watching him pretend to know what he was doing was admittedly entertaining. The man would sooner die than admit his imperfection.  
He took their sleeping bags out from the trunk and slid them beside the cooler to make room for the tackle-box. 

“See, that wasn’t especially hard, was it?”

“Great. Got the bikes all set?” He asked, chancing a sly smile. 

“Don’t you poke fun. I’m working on it.” he turned back to the task. 

Legolas watched him struggle with the bike rack again. Even with his brow furrowed in frustration and his jaw fixed in concentration, his father looked...majestic almost, embarrassing enough though it was for the boy to remark this to himself. In attentively trying to affix the bikes in place, the June sun brought out just how intensely silver-blond his hair was as it fell along his shoulders, the line of his muscular shoulders, too, was highlighted in the intense light. Even the slight angled shadow of his collarbones could be seen, like those statues of Greek heroes. Majestic. 

Legolas caught himself at this observation, and quickly busied himself gathering his final bag from the doorway of the house, hoping that Thranduil did not take note of his lingering gaze. _It is only natural to remark at beauty, though,_ he reminded himself. And not even he could deny his father’s beauty. Thranduil walked with grace, and carried the eyes of onlookers wherever he went. 

In any case, now was not the time to let his thoughts wander too far; Legolas brought the bag to the trunk and set it down on the driveway. Eventually, pleased enough with his work, the older man stepped down and beckoned Legolas around to the front of the car. 

“There, ion. See? All set.” he spoke smugly, gesturing to the car, upon which sat the two bikes in what appeared to be pretty secure placement.

Despite the fact that he’d rather be asleep at this hour of the morning and not looking forward to a week of bugs and fire-charred food, Legolas was almost excited. Once Thranduil had made it clear that he was going whether or not he wanted to, he’d figured that if his adar was so intent on this camping business, he might as well try and enjoy himself. Besides, he’d never tell the man to his face, but Thranduil’s company was, for whatever reason, growing on the boy. He nodded and turned towards the passenger-side door. 

Thranduil got into the adjacent seat and started the car. A quick glance at Legolas, a quick glance at the camping gear, and he began to pull out of the driveway. 

A sudden crashing atop the car brought them to a halt before they’d gotten five feet. Legolas peeked up through the open window to see handlebars facing sideways and hanging over the side of the roof of the vehicle. Thranduil sighed, not needing to look to understand what’d happened. 

“You know what? I’ve just decided. The bikes aren’t coming with us after all.”

.~.

An hour and twenty-seven minutes later (Legolas counted them all, his iPod died before they reached the highway), the car pulled into the dirt-path aside campsite 138. Thranduil sighed as he brought the car to a stop, looked over to Legolas, who was still staring out the windshield as though transfixed. 

“We’re here, Legolas.” bemusement and slight irritation laced his voice. 

“Oh.” The boy’s cheeks reddened as he snapped back to attention. 

The two stepped out of the vehicle and began to unpack, searching out the tent in the mess of things shoved haphazardly into the trunk. Legolas tried not to let his thoughts wander as they did on the ride here. He’d been watching his father’s hands on the steering wheel, gripping unhurriedly and turning with ease, when he slipped into daydreams. His father’s fingers were so pretty, since his childhood he’d admired them, the set of rings the man wore every day without exception since as long as Legolas remembered, gave him a sort of kingly air. Long, precise, and decorated by the stones and twisting metal of the jewelry that adorned them, the hands were certainly no exception to Thranduil’s beauty. Though guilt would later take its toll, the boy couldn’t help but imagine how sweet it would be to just lick at them- forbidden and crass were his thoughts, and he knew it, but still, to have them pushed in his mouth while Thranduil whispered dirty things into his ear, while-

“Legolas! What has gotten into you today?” 

Damnit. 

“Have you not been sleeping well, ion-nin? You seem out of sorts of late.” 

“No..it’s fine. I’m fine. Just a little tired, y’know, getting up so damn early and all.” 

“Well, if you’re out of your little stupor, I’m sure you’ll gladly help set up the tent, hmm?”

“Sure, of course.”

Thranduil pulled the bag out from the car: a brand-new one-door, two-person tent, bought online with a two-year warrantee and a fancy double-layer rainfly. _Smells like cheap rubber,_ thought Legolas, though he kept this to himself. 

The setup was far from easy, the advertised four-step process turned into about eight, broken up with an hour for lunch and a heated debate as to which end is supposed to be the top. In time, though, the little tent was up, and ready for the air mattresses. 

 

Only, there wasn’t exactly room for the air mattresses. 

“Well, fuck.”

 

Thranduil stood inside the tent, crouching to fit even at the highest point of the ceiling. 

“The tent, it would seem, advertised two-person, in the sense that two people can physically fit inside- not two people, their air mattresses, and breathing room. It’s going to be a bit cozier than we thought, las.” 

Legolas looked up. The bug-bites he was already sporting weren’t exactly pleasant, and the picnic table of their campsite was on a hill that would make mealtimes a bother-- but _this_ wasn’t as awful, he had to admit. He’d be closer to his adar, at least physically, than he’d been in years, certainly since his mother’s death. He remembered creeping under the sheets in the morning-hours when he had nightmares as a child, remembered Thranduil’s strong arms wrapping around to protect him. Surely he was too old for such childish things now, but still… 

He walked over, donning a pouty-face for the sake of the teenage angst that was expected of him, and peeked into the tent to see for himself. Sure enough, one mattress would fit, but certainly not two. The single mattress was large enough to support both father and son, but not with an incredible amount of extra space. _Cozy indeed,_ thought Legolas to himself. A strange feeling fluttered in his stomach at the thought.

The two unloaded the rest of their bags, and brought their _one_ air mattress into the tent. By the time everything was all set up, it was afternoon-time, and both were exhausted. They decided unanimously that the day would be one of relaxation around the campsite; Thranduil grabbed a sci-fi novel and a folding chair from the car while Legolas began searching out an adequate stick he could sharpen to a point with his pocket-knife. The afternoon passed lazily on, with Legolas growing bored of each of his amusements quickly, much to the amusement of his father, who looked up occasionally from his book to see his son doing something different from ten minutes before. Thranduil closed his novel only when the night’s hour had stolen the last tangible bit of reading daylight. 

“Is it time for dinner yet?” Legolas asked in exasperation. It was almost seven now, and every tree in the vicinity had been climbed, every stick that could tangibly become a weapon had done so; his adar’s stubborn insistence on reading all afternoon had only made him more restless. 

“You’re seventeen, ion, and yet you never fail to surprise me with your patience of a three year-old.” 

“Well, if you can contain your amazement, I’m hungry. What’re we making?”

Thranduil chuckled slightly. “Well, nothing without a fire. Grab the firewood from the back seat, and we’ll see what we can do, hmm?”

Legolas did as he was told, bringing the stack of neatly chopped wood. 

“Here you go, now where do I put these, they’re heaaavvy,” Legolas whined, though holding the wood steady in his arms.

“Good boy, just put it over there.” 

Legolas smiled despite himself, placing the bundle down by the right of the firepit. He adored it when his adar called him that- it’d been ages since last he had. He remembered shrugging it off in embarrassment as a kid, but now it brought him joy to hear the caring, sweet expression. He felt a slight familiar warmth between his legs at the thought of those words rolling from his father’s lips, though he insisted to himself it was just an illusion, the effort of carrying the firewood over. _Good boy._

Two boxes of fire-cooked mac n cheese later, the two were finally satiated and ready for bed. Thranduil made sure the fire was well-contained, and followed closely behind his son as he opened the tent-door and made his way inside. 

“I call the wall side!” Legolas exclaimed, jumping onto the mattress and claiming his territory on the half of the mattress facing the side wall of the tent. 

“I don’t think so,” began Thranduil. “I’m not falling off the side of the bed in the middle of the night. You kick in your sleep, and I am not dealing with that.” 

“But ada..” 

Thranduil wordlessly raised an eyebrow. It had certainly been some time since he’d been called ‘daddy.” Legolas blushed, quickly regaining himself. 

“I...adar. C’mon.”

“Nope. Move on over.”

Legolas resigned to the other side, allowing Thranduil the preferable half. The two arranged the blankets and pillows to their liking. Legolas laid to his side, facing away from his father, towards the tent-door. He felt the vague outline of Thranduil’s body shifting through the layer of sheets, and resisted the urge to nuzzle into him; he lay still, and simply enjoyed their closeness. With a few moments, his father too was settled in, laying on his back, breathing evening out as the minutes passed. 

“Goodnight, ion-nin.” he spoke lazily.

“Goodnight, adar.”

.~.

The night passed on. Legolas waited for sleep to come, but it did not. He heard his father’s breaths grow steady, saw his face relax into peacefulness- but the boy found no rest himself. He tried everything to get to sleep, he knew if he was up too late, it would show in the morning, and he wanted to have a decent time tomorrow- they were supposed to go swimming at the campground lake- there was no place for exhaustion. He tried counting sheep- but gave up at 200. He tried to let his mind grow blank- but in that, he found the source of his unquiet mind. In trying to think of nothing, in clearing his mind of distractions, he found a twisting guilt. Guilt wrought from his thoughts earlier that day, from the images his mind conjured- and how achingly hard they made him. 

He thought back to the glances stolen at his father’s form as they set up camp: how his eyes moved over his body with longing, flimsily disguised to himself as admiration. How he looked at the languid tapping of his father’s fingers as he read, and thought of all the sweet ways they could touch him. Despite the dissonance growing in his mind, he was also growing hard at these thoughts; he slowly slid his hand under the waist of his pajama pants, trying to forget the wrongness of his thoughts as he let them take hold. 

_That’s it,_ he imagined Thranduil’s voice saying to him, _touch yourself._ Legolas reached down lower under his trousers, making sure not to move too quickly or make sudden sounds, and began stroking himself ever slightly, his hand soon becoming his father’s in his mind. _That’s ada’s good boy. You like my fingers around your cock, don’t you?_ He imagined Thranduil’s face, looking with amusement as he brought his hand up and down his length, pleased at how his touch could unravel the boy. He stroked faster, bringing himself closer to the edge. _You love to be Daddy’s boy, don’t you?_

With this, Legolas lost his self-control, the guilt was lost under waves of pleasure. 

_“Yes-- daddy.-”_ He hissed the exclamation as he came, voice breaking the silent darkness before he could stop himself. 

As his pleasure died down, Legolas came to his senses quickly- and quickly realized with horror that he had in fact shouted out loud. What if he’d woken his father? The thought was too awful to bear. Did he dare turn to see, or would he just lie here to fall asleep in guilt, an uncomfortable wet spot growing on his pants as a reminder of his..perverseness? Thranduil was not more than a foot away from him. He listened, and heard even breaths- had he truly been lucky enough that the man had slept through everything? As soon as his heartbeat stilled to normal, the boy turned on his other side; he lay still and began to drift off at last. From the corner of his eye just before he fell asleep however, he saw a glint in the dark- the glint of moonlight on his father’s very open, very awake, eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think of it so far! I'm pretty unsure as to where it's going from here, but don't worry, I promise it won't be an angst shitfest. probably. :3


End file.
